


Please Read On A Rainy Day

by oisteakboy



Category: King's Maker (Webcomic)
Genre: Inspired by Studio Ghibli, Studio Ghibli References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisteakboy/pseuds/oisteakboy
Summary: a depressed salaryman, on the verge of having a mental breakdown from the stress of overwork and an anxiety of the unknowable gnawing at his conscious, brushes paths with a stranger on a crosswalk. after bumping into the peculiar, carefree person several times, the salaryman learns how to become a little more carefree and enjoy his life to the fullest.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Crosswalk Blues

**Author's Note:**

> if possible please pretend this is a 90s ghibli movie bc that's the vibe i was trying to go for
> 
> please listen to this while reading:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pi7rX5G7x48&list=PL9IFoBEiusbTlQ9QUBbQfOmHfr4drtAX1&index=2&t=18565s

1\. Crosswalk Blues

_pitter patter_

_pitter patter_

_pitter patter_

raindrops steadfast from above, melting into the ground below,

streetlights lighting swaths of busy roads, traffic lights blinking in a bright haze,

underneath yellow umbrellas, small hands clutching backpacks,

little footsteps hitting the sidewalk as schoolchildren huddle close together,

in the near distance cars swell and swarm in multitudes,

the steady night rush begins,

the race to get home as quickly as possible.

a salaryman stands at the crosswalk alone.

shifting his weight from one leg to the other,

rain pours onto an unguarded form,

wetting his clothes,

drip

drip

drip.

from afar he is a familiar figure to the man standing at the opposite end of the crosswalk.

a tall, slim shadow, clothes--as always--in a three-piece navy blue suit.

shoes, a pair of black leather loafers.

if one looked close enough, they could make out the faded outline of black sharpie marker,

a vague attempt at covering up scuff marks on worn leather.

thin shoulders slumped over in the close binds of the hard-working,

complimented by bruised, purple eyebags,

and trembling fists stuck frozen by his side.

at the ringing of the bell,

the salaryman begins to walk, footsteps heavy

heavier,

heavier,

heavier,

eyes begin to lull to a close,

he struggles to make the last step onto the sidewalk...

...and tumbles forward.

a pair of hands catch him.

they are at first strong, steady.

and at second touch,

they are gentle.

warm,

calm,

patient.

a keen touch that would not be forgotten as they hoisted the tired salaryman back unto his feet,

a touch that lingered after the hands retreated,

and the man they belonged to--nowhere to be seen.

the salaryman turned left and right,

and round and round,

dizzying his mind as raindrops fogged up his glasses.

at once, he saw the glimpse of a straight-cut, broad shouldered figure,

clung to by sheer white and rich brown,

head facing upward as if to savour the downpour,

lost to a crowd that rushed along.


	2. To Be Watched, To Be Touched

2\. To Be Watched, To Be Touched

the entire walk back to his apartment, the salaryman could not shake the lingering feeling of being watched and followed.

the feeling seemed to peer over his shoulder when he looked ahead,

hide in a hurry when he peeked left and right,

loom over him when he stared down,

and gaze up from right underneath his nose when he examined the sky.

in an even worse turn of events--the ghost of a warm touch had invaded his heart and mind for the rest of that night.

the hands steadied him as he slipped into a pair of pajamas,

brushed the hair from his forehead as he washed the day's grime from his face,

wiped a drop of water from his neck as he drank a glass of water,

the calloused fingertips unwavering in their comforting embrace.

as the salaryman lay in the soft excess of his bed,

draped over by the silent darkeness of night,

freezing cold despite a heated blanket wrapped tight round his body,

he wondered if the pair of kind hands that had caught him

could possibly keep his lonely being

warm.


	3. Repeated Days

3\. Repeated Days

mornings had always been the same for the salaryman.

a disingenuous strength is to kept at the front of his mind,

keeping his fragile existence from tearing apart,

into a destitute despair of nothingness,

where his lonely soul is kept in the chains of repitition,

and he goes forward in a reluctantly jolly step,

step

step

step.

the sleeping salaryman is awoken at the same time as the sun,

eyes stretched open by shiny beams of light seering onto his eyelids,

a once exhausted body only half-recovered by the quiet hours of night,

and a tiny voice in the back of his head that pleads,

_"lay back down, just for a little bit...please?"_

he forces the rare moment of comfort out from it's plush interior and begins his daily routines.

brush his teeth,

brush

brush

brush.

wash his face,

wash

wash

wash.

take a shower,

scrub

scrub

scrub.

brush his hair,

brush

brush

brush.

eat a bowl of cereal,

munch

munch

munch.

he buttons up his shirt,

and ties his tie,

and buttons up his vest,

and zips his pants,

and buttons up his blazer,

and slips on his socks and his shoes.

then out the door it is, onto the sidewalk and to the train station as always.


	4. Following a Whisper of the Heart

4\. Following a Whisper of the Heart

at the train station the salaryman should be,

standing with the morning crowd,

clamoring to be the first on the early ticket.

but he does not make it there.

on his walk down the stairs of the stations he is interrupted by...

a cat?

_meow_

_meow_

_meow_

the salaryman cannot ignore it's sad cries,

how desperate and longing they are,

how he feels as if they were mewling from within.

so he turns, only to be met with the plump backside of a fat brown cat.

it's little paws go _tap tap tap_

up the staircase,

and gone.

curiosity digs it's claws into the salaryman,

so his feet--without the solid permisson of his head--

follow along the _tap tap tap_ of those tiny paws

as they go up the stairs

and through the entrance of the station

and up another flight of stairs

and across the street

and through a closed-for-fixing road,

and cuts around a straggle of rose bushes

and across another, much larger street

and through a small neigborhood

and down an alleyway

and up a creaky staircase

and through a tiny corrider

and around a big old house

and along a barren stone wall

and down a flight of steps

and somehow,

to a big, open field.

the bewildered salaryman has no clue as to how he has been led to this field,

nor how it even exists in the concrete jungle of the city,

but the fresh air ruffles his worries loose

and steadies his harsh breaths

calming his heart and mind to a slow rhythm

until he feels the balmy burn of the same gaze

and the same touch

that haunted his memory the night before.

this time, the touch is familiar and pleasant,

calloused hands steadying him as the fresh summer air washes his exhaustion away,

swaying softly in the embrace of the wind.

the salaryman peeks open his eyelids, met with a pair of golden eyes gazing gently at him.


	5. Face to Face

5\. Face to Face

"what's yer' name?" is the first sound to leave his mouth.

the salaryman cannot hear him.

he is, in a word,

enchanted.

the young man, perhaps only a few years younger than him,

has bright eyes that seem to hold the radiance of an early sunrise.

they are the color of an infant sun

that only peers it's rays over the blanket of a pillowy horizon,

shy, and yet blinding.

his half-neat hair is the same color, and the salaryman wishes he had the gall to ignore all social politeness, to reach out and stroke the soft strands.

the young man is clothed in a white shirt as before,

sleeves rolled up to his thick forearms,

a pair of brown slacks belted loosely to his waist,

and a floppy, puppy-like grin adorning his handsome face.

he asks the question once more, teetering forward on his bicycle.

"come on, tell me! ya didn't chase old miles _alllll_ the way out here for nothin' did ya?"

the salaryman cannot answer,

for the young man had started riding his bicycle in little circles around him,

teasing giggled escaping from his chest,

his youthful demeanor as pretty as a flower floating along a calm wave.

"p-please stop...im getting dizzy-,"

the salaryman jolts forward, steadied by the same strong hands as before.

removing one foot from the bicycle,

and placing it firmly on the ground,

the young man wraps his arms around the salaryman,

pulling him close.

in a gentle whisper that is almost lost to the flowing wind around them,

he begins again.

"i'm very sorry," with a smile that suggests he is not at all apologetic,

"but if i may ask again, yer' name?"

the salaryman is frozen, pale face scorching from the familiar touch of this peculiar stranger.

"i...would you let go first, p-please? my name...my name...yes, well-,"

his blush deepens to a scarlet shade a spring tomato would be jealous of.

"well? not going to answer my question? why'd ya even follow my cat if yer' gonna be all shy now, huh _mister_?" his tone mischevious as he tilts his head and raises a thick eyebrow, leaning in further.

the salaryman follows his pace, leaning back far as his blush extends to his neck, "shin! my name is shin, and i am not a _mister_! do i look so old to you? i reckon we're the same age, s-sir!"

the blonde grins larger, all shiny teeth on display like a shark taunting it's prey,

"oh, you reckon, do ya'?"

shin nods. he feels feverish from the contact of the hands that seem to pull him closer and he attempts to lean back farther.

"so how old are ya anyways? if yer' sooo not a mister."

"im 27, how old are _you?_ "

"hmmm...i guess yer' not that much of mister. i'm 23."

shin feel feverish from the hands that stroke the small of his back softly.

"i see...and y-your name! what about your name...? but--um, well, could you please let go of me first!"

the young man takes shin's request very seriously.

he pushes the rest of his body off of the bicycle,

propelling forward,

until they both topple back onto the lush grass,

until he is...

right on top of the salaryman.

their noses almost touching,

the long grass tickles shin's pink-tinged ears,

and prickles the nameless young man's sharp cheekbones.

the childlike curiosity strips from his face,

to leave only a genuine gaze,

and a softened kindness.

"very nice to meet ya shin. i'm wolfgang."

they lay there breathless,

eyelashes fluttering against flushed cheeks,

lips parted with a soft gasp,

and eyes dazed in innocent embarrassment,

though the patient wind continues to rock back and forth

and back and forth

and back and forth

and back and forth

as two heart beat in unison.


End file.
